Sword on Your Shoulder
by Mariphasa Hecatene
Summary: After the events of Memento Mori, Scully has a hearttoheart talk with the Lone Gunmen. Kinda sweet really.


"Sword on Your Shoulder" 

Disclaimer: I do not own or have any real-life rights to any of the wondrous creatures which populate the X-Files: they belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen, and/or FOX/FX Networks. No infringement is intended or should be implied. I'm only borrowing 'em, honest, and I'll bring 'em back undamaged. X my heart.

(no sex, no romance, no slash, no violence - bring the whole family!)

Mulder was seldom in much hurry to leave the basement office, where "quitting time" was regarded as an exotic belief held by the natives of the upper floors. So when, that Friday afternoon, he locked the desk drawers punctually at 4:45 and picked up his trenchcoat, it warranted a questioning glance from Scully.

"Got a date, Mulder?"

Mulder stopped at the door. "In a manner of speaking. I got a call from Frohike, and he and the guys have cracked a Red Level Defense Department website they've been working on for weeks. They promise me photos that'll curl my hair." Quick grin. "Plus, of course, the best cheesesteaks in DC."

"Think I could come too?"

"What?!"

"Well, if you don't think they'd mind, that is."

"Mind! I doubt it. But, Scully - " amusement battled disbelief in her partner's voice and hazel eyes--"do I really hear you volunteering for a thrill-packed evening of covert-ops trivia and Philly Mike's finest?"

"Yeah, you do. That actually sounds pretty good." --It did, too. It would sure beat another Friday night of ice cream topped with neurophysiobiology monographs. "Let me just save this file and I'll get my coat."

Mulder's smile warmed to real delight. "We'll make a Lone Gunwoman of you yet, Scully. --I'll call 'em back and make sure they order enough sandwiches."

"No onions on mine." Scully set about finishing her computer task, thinking with an inner smile; he's so glad I like his friends. And she genuinely did. She'd been pretty rough on them at first, she knew - who could take the Three Stooges of Paranoia seriously? But though the terrain had gotten steadily more strange and dangerous, they had never faltered: always there when you needed them, no matter what. Odd characters, but true friends.

And now.. now she knew how true.

Which was why she wanted this chance to talk to them.

She locked up the laptop and got her camelhair coat, and Mulder escorted her out the door.

So here she was, curled up in the comfiest chair the Gunmen's office had to offer, finishing one of the best cheesesteaks in DC (sans onions), and watching over Mulder's shoulder. As predicted, they had made her royally welcome, fetching her refills and inquiring after her comfort every fifteen minutes. Who could help but be charmed by such deference? The first time she'd been here Scully'd had the oddest feeling that she'd been brought home to meet the family; by now she'd been adopted into its core. But Scully declined most of the proffered pampering, preferring to just relax and watch them pore over the newly-cracked website.

The funny thing was, it really was relaxing. She could feel her nerves unwinding as she gazed around the packed but orderly office (Byers' work, she suspected), watching their excited faces in the screens' silent glow. The place felt safe, even cozy, and Scully knew it wasn't just the Gunmen's security precautions she was appreciating. Here there were no masked faces, nothing you dared not mention, no one who was probably lying to you. This was one of the few places in the world - a world that seemed more shadowy and perilous every day - where she and Mulder could sit at ease among people who understood it all. Friends who knew what their lives were like and what enemies they faced.

With a chill, Scully realized how rare that had become. Who else did they dare speak to so openly? Skinner? Only sometimes. Their families? Not likely. The people they most cared for, they kept in the dark. The more terrible the things she and Mulder learned, the more they kept their own counsel, and those things gnawed on her sometimes through sleepless nights. She had often heard that top-secret work was the loneliest profession, fraught with breakdowns and suicides. It wasn't hard to understand why. "Trust No One" is the bleakest of watchwords.

But here, in this busy little warren, they and the truth had allies. Someone to trust.

--The thought took the chill away, and Scully polished off her sandwich with a contented sigh and scooted her chair closer to the computer for a better look. You know what? she said to herself. I AM having a good time.

The foursome were still animatedly discussing the technical specs of the various craft whose images appeared onscreen. Scully had to smile; definitely a boy thing. Multi-million-dollar projects of beyond-top-secret origin, and they might as well be model plane kits. The world's coolest toy collection.

Mulder set aside the illuminated magnifying glass with which he'd been studying a printout. "Got to hand it to 'em, Langly, these are some of the best bogus UFO photos I've ever seen. How'd you get hold of them?"

The lanky blond shrugged. "Nothin' to it; hacked their mirror site. But that's not the best part."

"The best part," chimed in Byers - in that way the Lone Gunmen had of completing each others' paragraphs - " is that these fakes, clever as they are, were intended to be hacked. They hoped anyone would stop there, satisfied they'd found what they were after. The purpose being -" he produced a manila folder, with a slight flourish - "to cover these."

"These, eh?" Mulder opened the folder; his eyes widened and he let out a soft whistle. Curious, Scully leaned close over his shoulder. Three 8x10 glossies, computer-blasted to enhance color and brightness, they showed a long, low building against the deep blue of a clear twilight sky. Hovering over the flat roof was an elegant, brilliantly lit triangular aircraft that looked the size of a baseball diamond.

"Haven't been able to crack them," commented Frohike.

Mulder looked back over his shoulder at Scully, raising the photo for her inspection.

"These ARE good," she admitted. The aircraft was pouring light from all three sides, and all the shadows looked correctly placed, including those of two uniformed men pointing up at their visitor. The gleam of gunmetal in one man's hand was right where it should have been if the UFO was the only light source. No moon, no telltale inclarity where the craft would have been matted against the rocky range in the background; she was impressed in spite of herself. "I won't make any final judgments, but these are certainly the best I've seen yet."

"Not bad, from the lady who fried Deep Throat's best fake in ten seconds flat," approved Langly.

Mulder grinned wryly, but without taking his eyes off the photos. "Guys, these are beautiful. Where are they from?"

"Groom Lake," replied Langly. "We think they're pulling a fast one. Letting on that Area 51 is nothing now but a tourist trap and the cool stuff is all elsewhere, then this turns up right in the old backyard."

"Doesn't match the profile of any of the Aurora pix either," added Frohike. "A brand new black-ops project. High weirdness."

"You can get me prints of these?"

Byers chuckled. "Surely you didn't think we'd have our originals here in the office? Those are your copies. The originals are in a safe place."

Mulder smiled. "Should never have doubted it." He carefully replaced the glossies in their folder and stood. "Well, fellas, hate to leave your company, but we have an 8:30 meeting with Skinner, so .."

"No problem, no problem--" the well-groomed Gunman began tidily gathering the paper plates and soda cans. "A pleasure as always."

"You two know you're always welcome," added Frohike, with the trace of a sigh. And that reminded Dana of her errand.

She caught his eye. "Mulder, could you, ah, give me a moment to talk to --?" (she gestured in the threesome's general direction; she could still hardly refer to them as "the Gunmen" with a straight face.)

Mulder raised an eyebrow, glanced from her to them, then read something in her expression and exited without fuss.

The room fell quiet. Byers straightened up from his cleaning chores and the trio looked at her as one, as always, this time in mild puzzlement touched with apprehension. Byers ahemed.

"Agent Scully--?"

She looked from one face to the next, holding each with her eyes for a moment.

"I haven't had a chance to thank you," she said quietly, "for what you did at the clinic."

"Oh, that was -"

"No," Scully raised a hand to stave off modest objections, "let me finish. I know that you put yourselves on the line. You risked capture, and even worse, exposure. You know as well as we do how dangerous these people are, what they can do, yet you willingly walked into their grasp. You could have lost everything." She hesitated. "You did it to save me."

The Lone Gunmen looked at their feet. Such improbable heroes.

"I just wanted you to know that I know, and that I appreciate it." Dana drew a deep breath " - and that I consider you, all three of you, my good and dear friends."

There was a moment's silence. A starfield screen saver raced on, spraying points of light.

Langly cleared his throat awkwardly. "We wouldn't've done it," he said, "for anyone who didn't deserve it."

"You and Mulder are the only friends we've got," admitted Frohike.

"How could we do any less?" said Byers, and the eyes that met hers glowed; a knight, granted his lady's token as he rides onto the field. "It was for you."

Touched to the heart, Dana smiled at him. "Thank you, Byers." She stepped close to him and gave him a light hug, a quick kiss on the cheek. Scratchy but sweet; neat beard, clean tweed, aftershave. Warm and steady, like hugging your favorite uncle. He hugged back, very gently.

"Thank you, Langly." The same, tiptoed to reach his cheek. He hugged back too, self-consciously. She barely came to his shoulder, her arms nearly doubled around the bony, t-shirted frame. For a moment he rested his cheek on the top of her head, and she stood quiet, taking in his unlikely cologne of machine oil and bleach and strawberry Suave. The feeling of safety soaked right through to her bones, like the heat of a sunlamp. (What is it about tall guys that feels so good...?)

And--"Thank you, Frohike." She gazed into the plain unlovely face: the one she had least expected to ever care for. But now she knew he had come to her hospital bedside, dressed in his earnest Sunday best, to bring her flowers; not to impress her - hovering in a coma, she'd never known he was there - but to show an almost courtly respect. It was Frohike who had come to her door to grieve for Mulder when he had - they both had - thought him lost, that awful night, and his scrap of news that had brought her back to life. Frohike had borne her the news of Melissa and the assassin's bullet, and he had risked his life and freedom in that clinic crawlspace, shoulder to shoulder with Langly, to rescue her from her darkest hour.--Dear old Frohike, her best friend of them all.

Scully took his face between her hands, and kissed his forehead. "Thanks," she added gently and seriously, " --for everything."

And Frohike lifted her hand carefully off his cheek and kissed it, with a slight bow. "You're welcome."

Dana hugged him tight.

Mulder melted out of the shadow of the pylon where he had been awaiting her. "Good to see you, Scully. I was starting to feel a bit conspicuous out here." He gave her a quick sidelong look. "Everything all right?"

"Everything's fine." Scully assured him, slipping on her coat. "I had a great time."

"You know, that may be the strangest thing I've heard all night, but I believe it."

"Naturally." She paused two beats. "After what you told me...I just wanted to thank them."

"Ahh." Comprehension, a grin. "And they tried to say 'shucks, ma'am, warn't nothin' ".

"They tried," Scully admitted, "but I know better. So now they know I know."

They reached their car. Mulder looked at her a moment, into her, the clear eyes taking in every nuance.

"Whatever you gave them," he said with complete understanding, "you can be sure it's already their greatest treasure."

"I called them my friends," said Scully softly.

Mulder nodded with a slow smile.

(--at the time this was written, Philly Mike's were indeed the best cheesesteaks to be had in D.C. Alas, Mike closed his doors nearly 2 years ago. I haven't had a cheesesteak sub since. (


End file.
